And damned if he hadn’t even been able to do that.
It had been months since he’d wielded a stake, dozens of weeks since he’d slipped into the hard, fast, violent, and necessary work of slaying vampires…It’d been too long since he’d been able to expend the built-up energy and rage that rumbled beneath his skin. He’d had to suppress his natural instinct and skill, for he simply couldn’t take the chance that someone would put two and two together if an undead was missing and Dr. Elton Melke had been in the vicinity.
And so he’d moved carefully among the vampire-worshipping Tutela Society of mortals. He’d ignored the ugly, eerie shiver that chilled the back of his neck whenever an undead was in the same room as he. Max had even had to turn away when he knew a man with whom he’d just sat and drank was slipping out to go on the hunt…to find an unsuspecting mortal on whom to feed and, likely, destroy.
Thus the nightmares. Thus the heavy, dark cloud that had cloaked him for months.
Thus the growing sense of frustration, guilt, and fury…the knowledge that he had made these choices. The knowledge that he was alone.
He despised himself.
But then as Max looked out over the city, the sleet-stained wind blustering about, cutting into his chest and cheeks like a thousand tiny needles, he received a small gift of his own.
The back of his neck suddenly shifted several degrees colder, sending an unpleasant and familiar chill over the tops of his shoulders. Vampires. Very nearby.
Looking down from the third-story window, he reached for the stake next to his hand. It took only a moment to locate the shadowed figure waiting in an alley below. The minuscule flash of red eyes would have given the creature away even if Max hadn’t felt the chill.
He smiled with pleasure and relief as he vaulted himself through the window. No one would notice if he went after this single, anonymous undead.
Now, at last, he could unleash himself…if only for one night.
Chapter 1
~ Determination ~
Ten months later
December 23, 1925
The Countryside of England
SAVINA ELEIASA’S FIRST glimpse of Knotwood Abbey threatened to reinstate her love for Christmas.
The large English manor house was trimmed with icicles and frosted with snow. Smoke streamed happily from twelve chimneys, and she could smell the scent of burning wood on the crisp winter air. The massive iron gates, bookended by a twelve-foot brick wall that stretched as far as she could see, boasted pine and boxwood wreaths trimmed with gold bows bigger than an automobile tire. She could practically feel the holiday spirit emanating from the regal estate.
As Liam motored them up the driveway, his capable gloved hands managing the steering wheel despite an inch of snow and an underlying glaze of ice, Savina couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. She’d loved Christmas for years, even growing up as she had in the midst of the Venators and their millennium-long fight against the undead. Not that the Venators hadn’t celebrated Christmas, but usually the celebrations were curtailed by the need to go out and patrol the streets, looking for undead who were trying to ruin someone else’s holiday.
The Venators as a whole didn’t necessarily mind. After all, they were called to this life, and with the exception of very few, carried out their work with resolve and determination.
Savina wasn’t a Venator herself, but she could certainly wield a stake when necessary, and she knew enough about the red-eyed, immortal vampires to hold her own when and if she encountered one. Not that she, or any other Venator alive, could hold a candle to the absent Max Denton and his abilities. Good grief…the man in action was breathtaking: sleek, smooth, blindingly fast, powerful. Brave. Intense.
Damn him.
Her stomach tightened with anger and hurt. She drew in a deep breath and forced her insides to relax.
This would be her second Christmas without Max. Unless you counted the one where he actually left…which would make this her third Christmas without him.
And, well, her first with Liam.
She glanced at her companion, and he shot her a jaunty smile from beneath his dark brown sunglasses. They looked better on him than the round spectacles he normally wore when he was doing his mechanical work. “You all right there, lass?”
“Of course.” She definitely was all right. Even though, as they rumbled up the drive, she couldn’t help but remember the last time she was arriving at a country manor house on a mission for the Venators with a man at her side.
That time she’d been with Max Denton. Contentious, arrogant, brooding, wry, interesting, and delicious enough to make her toes curl just thinking about him, Max Denton.
Oh, and cowardly too.
The damned idiot.
“If you weren’t hiding behind those sunglasses, I’d be able to see your eyes and ken whether you were lying.” Liam grinned, his dimples showing and the flavor of Scotland touching his words.
“And if you weren’t hiding behind your glasses, I’d be able to see whether you were watching the road—or me.”
“Och, and I’m always watching you, lass,” he said. Those dimples deepened but—thankfully—he turned his attention to the road.
She laughed and turned to adjust the driving blanket over her lap. Liam was a delightful challenge and a boon to her pride—partly because with his almost-black auburn hair, perfect features, and deep bourbon-colored eyes, he was ridiculously handsome, and partly because he was wildly, harmlessly flirtatious. It was impossible not to feel attractive and interesting in his presence, even when one’s heart was in tatters. Not only that, but he was an extremely handy person to have around, for he worked closely with Estevan, the weapons-master and gadget-creator for the Gardella family of Venators.
Though not a Venator—vampire hunter—himself, Liam had jumped at the opportunity to accompany Savina on this little adventure. Unlike another man who’d fought a similar situation, grousing and ordering her around every step of the way. Damn and blast Max Denton. Savina’s eyes narrowed with fury at herself more than her former lover. Why couldn’t she put the idiot out of her mind?
Ah. Because it was Christmas. And he’d left on Christmas Eve two years ago.
She hadn’t heard from him since. She didn’t even know if he was still alive. Idiot.
She didn’t care. She really didn’t care.
“We’re here.” She was relieved to have a distraction from her thoughts as Liam wheeled the motorcar to a stop in front of the manor house. “I certainly hope I haven’t dragged you across Europe for naught.”
He looked at her, a smile curving his lips again. His tanned skin was awash with freckles to match his mahogany hair, and one of them made a faint, attractive dot on his upper lip. “I don’t consider myself dragged, lass. Not in the least. For one, I got to get out of that dungeon of a workroom at the Consilium. For two, maybe we will find the amulet. And three—and most happily—I get to spend Christmas as the husband of a famous woman. Now I know how my Aunt Evvie’s husband felt.”
She laughed again and squeezed his gloved hand with her own. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you if we encounter a pack of vampires. Or if I’m wrong and Rasputin’s amulet isn’t here after all.”
“A pack of vampires?” He lifted his brows as he turned off the motor.
“Well, what do you call them? A gaggle? A troop? A flock?” Savina was glad for the levity, for it helped alleviate some of her nervousness.
Not only were vampires no laughing matter, but she and Liam had no idea whether they were walking into a clan of undead, a meeting of the vampire-loving Tutela society…or a simple, innocent English Christmas.
The engine hadn’t even rumbled into silence when a footman was at the automobile, opening the door for Savina while another was already preparing to drag their trunks out of the back of the shiny blue Citroën B10. A third loped from the garage, still holding a rag and a wrench in his hands. Savina smiled to herself as she climbed out, knowing a good
portion of their enthusiasm was for the motorcar itself—for the vehicle was the first steel-bodied model of automobile on this side of the Atlantic, and it drew the attention of car lovers everywhere Liam went. The man liked contraptions of all types, whether they were ones he conceived himself or ones he took apart that had been engineered by others.
When the footman took a moment to stroke the car’s shiny coating as he closed the door, Savina knew she was right about his interest. He even made a soft moan of delight—rather like a man seeing his lover undressed for the first time.
Grinning—sometimes it was so easy to please a man—Savina adjusted her red wool coat, gathering it up over her flimsy dress to protect herself from the chill. The lush rabbit-fur collar whispered against her chin as she took Liam’s arm, the matching cuffs making a muff-like cover as she slipped one hand inside the other sleeve. He escorted her up the front steps, which were clear of snow and ice, to the main entrance. A butler was already at the door, gesturing them inside as the servants gathered up her trunks of photography equipment and clothing.
A footman helped Savina out of the coat and took her hat as well as Liam’s while the butler, who introduced himself as Rodney, said, “Mr. and Mrs. Stoker, welcome to Knotwood Abbey. I have already notified Lady Glennington of your arrival. She will be down shortly. His lordship is with his secretary, but he sends his greetings and will see you at dinner. We dine at eight, with drinks in the drawing room at seven. Please follow me to the sitting room. We have a warm fire roaring, and Bessie will be along momentarily with tea and biscuits, as well as coffee if you like.” He gave a bow and gestured with a white gloved hand to the room in question.
Savina, who was unused to the damp, chilly English winters, was more than happy to sit next to the roaring blaze. The fireplace was large enough for her to stand up in (not today, of course), and the room’s ceiling rose twenty feet over her head. The walls were painted a cozy, dark rose, and the tall, narrow windows were swathed in patterned curtains. Swags of beribboned greenery hung over the fireplace and doorways, and though the house had been updated with electricity, there were a number of festive candle arrangements everywhere. The scents of cinnamon and pine filtered through the air.
There was even a pine tree festooned with bows, garlands, and ornamental balls. Gaily wrapped packages crowded beneath the lower branches, and smaller ones were perched on some of the upper limbs.
Yes indeed, the residents of Knotwood Abbey had gone all out for their Christmas celebration in honor of the visit by celebrated female photographer Sabrina Ellison—known to them as Mrs. Liam Stoker.
Which, Savina mulled silently as she took the cup of tea Bessie poured for her, really wasn’t quite fair. A famous woman whose photographs had appeared in the likes of TIME, National Geographic, and The Saturday Evening Post shouldn’t have to change her name just because she got married. Savina had cultivated her career as Sabrina Ellison: Adventure Photographer for the last seven years as a cover-up identity for her work with the Venators. (Mata Hari had nothing on her.)
And now just because she’d gotten married, she had to be known as Sabrina Stoker? Or, worse—Mrs. Liam Stoker. As if she no longer even had her own identity now that she was wed. Hadn’t that sort of thing gone by the wayside after women got the vote and those archaic property laws had gone away?
“Is something amiss, ma’am?” asked Bessie. She wore her flaming red hair in a no-nonsense bun and had starched petticoats that rustled when she moved.
“Oh, no, not at all,” Savina told her with a smile. “I’m just considering how to use this lovely fireplace in a photograph.”
“Oh, that’s nothing, ma’am. You should see the fireplace in the drawing room! Why, it’s magnificent, if I do say so! And all decked out with holly and pine for the holiday.” Bessie’s eyes sparkled even as she bobbed a curtsy.
“Well, then, I look forward to seeing it,” Savina replied sincerely. “And the rest of the house.”
“Mrs. Stoker! And Mr. Stoker!”
An enthusiastic voice drew their attention as Lady Glennington swooped into the parlor. She was older than Savina by two decades, but she was attractive and well preserved for a woman of fifty. Lady Glennington was tall, slender, and pale-visaged, with sharp features and elegantly tailored clothing. Her loose cream-colored frock glittered modestly from jet beading around the neckline and cuffs, and several large stones beamed from her fingers.
It was a photograph of Lady Glennington on one of the London society pages that had caught Savina’s attention and was the reason—unbeknownst to the lady herself—for Savina and Liam’s visit.
Savina had been certain a brooch Lady Glennington was wearing in the picture was the amulet that had belonged to Rasputin. Because of her connections in the world of photography and journalism, Savina had been able to examine the original photograph herself (without explaining her purpose, of course). She’d even been able to blow up a copy of the image large enough to assure herself that she wasn’t mistaken: Lady Glennington had been wearing a brooch that was identical to the Rasputin amulet. That was why she and Liam were here undercover to investigate and, hopefully, retrieve the powerful pendant.
The chances of either of them being recognized by any vampires lurking about were slim, as compared to, say, Max Denton being identified. Still, there was always the chance that an undead or a member of the Tutela—the secret society of mortals that protected and served the vampires—might recognize Savina from the few times she’d been in Max’s company in public.
Liam, who spent most of his time happily tinkering with gadgets in the workshop at the Venator headquarters in Rome, was even less likely to be noticed or recognized.
“I cannot tell you how honored we are here at Knotwood Abbey to have such a celebrated artist in our midst!” Lady Glennington collected Savina’s hands in her cool ones and smiled down at her. “We have been preparing for the photography session for weeks now—I do hope you’ve seen some of the results of our hard work. The editors of LIFE will surely be pleased with your photography story about a true English Christmas.”
Savina smiled back, keeping to herself the thoughts that there was most likely no real “we” about the work. The downstairs people—the servants—had done it all, she imagined, while Lady Glennington’s participation was likely limited to approving or changing their decorations.
“Based on what I’ve already seen, I can assure you the editors will indeed be pleased. But of course, you understand, the photographs won’t be used until next November, as the Christmas edition has already been released for this year.”
“Yes, yes, of course, but you did say there might be some photographs in one of the January volumes?” Lady Glennington’s eyes lit up hopefully. “And a small article? We are so hoping to begin attracting tourists to this area of England again. Since the war ended and things have begun to turn around, you understand.”
“Likely a small article, yes. I’m certain they’ll do so.”
“Splendid! Now, I’ve asked Rodney to direct the footmen to bring your trunks to your suite, but do you wish to keep your equipment on the main floor where you can easily access it? I’ve set aside part of the third parlor, down that corridor, for you to use as your photography headquarters if you like.”
“That’s very kind and accommodating of you, my lady. Thank you for thinking of it.” Savina glanced at Liam, who nodded at her unspoken suggestion for him to see to those arrangements. Of course, if they had to make a hasty exit, the trunks and equipment would surely be left behind.
But that was a hazard of the trade and a chance Savina was willing to take.
“Perhaps you can even set up a darkroom in there, and you can develop the pictures before you leave,” her hostess said hopefully. “That way we can ensure they are exactly what you are hoping for before you leave—and you can re-do them if they aren’t. I’ve instructed the servants to hang thick, black fabric over all the windows so as to ensure the room is as dark as possi
ble.”
Savina’s eyes widened. “I had no expectation of such a thing, but I assure you, I will make use of the room in that way as well. Thank you again.”
Lady Glennington beamed. “Splendid!” she said again. “Now, surely you’re frozen to death, Mrs. Stoker. It’s those motorcars. They’ve made transportation so much easier and faster, but it gets frightfully cold speeding along the road at twenty miles an hour. You need a warm bath, I’m sure. Bessie will show you to your room, and she can send your maid up when she arrives.”
Savina stood and waved blithely. “Oh, I haven’t got a maid with me. I—”
“But then you will use one of mine.” Lady Glennington’s eyes had widened with shock as she rose to her feet. “I will send Missy up to you immediately. And our other houseguests—I did tell you about them, didn’t I? Lord Glennington and I thought the more, the merrier—the more festive everything would look for your photo story. We expect them any time now, but you needn’t worry about socializing with them until the pre-dinner cocktails in the drawing room. Seven o’clock.”
Houseguests? Savina kept her less-than-enthusiastic reaction to herself. The more people who were here, the more difficult it would be to keep up appearances and slip off unnoticed to find the amulet.
“Thank you very much. I would appreciate the opportunity to freshen up, and afterward, to tour the house so I can plan tomorrow’s shoot.”
“Most definitely. I will be happy to show you around after you’ve had a chance to see to that. Bessie, please take Mr. and Mrs. Stoker to their suite.”
“I’ll be along verra soon, my dear,” Liam told her. He’d risen to his feet along with the ladies, but clearly had seen no reason to join the conversation. Knowing him, he was already planning an elaborate way to rig up the camera (and Savina along with it) to get an unusual angle on a photograph.
“I’ll see you then.” Savina lifted her cheek for a kiss and then followed Bessie out of the sitting room.
Alphas for the Holidays Page 41
